


i should never have wakened

by reinventweather



Category: Ghost of Tsushima (Video Game)
Genre: Alcohol, Canon-Typical Angst, Flirting with Poetry, M/M, Pre-Canon, Pre-Slash, Unrequited Love, You construct intricate rituals etc etc, no animals were harmed in the making of this fic!!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-18
Updated: 2020-12-18
Packaged: 2021-03-10 19:08:23
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,183
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28142136
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/reinventweather/pseuds/reinventweather
Summary: The sun is high in the sky, the birds are singing, the trees are blooming, and Jin Sakai is playing hooky. He knows--he knows--he should be training, Lord Nagao’s tournament just around the corner, but instead he let his best friend pull him from his unyielding practice.We are supposed to be achieving balance in all things, right?Ryuzo had explained, a turn to his smile.Shouldn’t that mean between work and rest, too?And in this moment, as Jin lays on his back in the grass, the heat of the sun on his face, he can't bring himself to disagree.an afternoon, before.
Relationships: Ryuzo/Jin Sakai
Comments: 2
Kudos: 11
Collections: Yuletide 2020





	i should never have wakened

**Author's Note:**

  * For [virusq](https://archiveofourown.org/users/virusq/gifts).



> i hope you enjoy this, [virusq](https://www.archiveofourown.org/users/virusq/)! i did my best to make this as sweet as i could, though i am an angst-lover at heart!
> 
> please note that i played the game in japanese with english subtitles, and i do not know japanese. any rhythms of speech or naming conventions come from the subtitles. if i have made any errors regarding this or any other aspects of japanese history, please let me know and i will fix them to the best of my ability!
> 
> thanks a ton to [ktbl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ktbl) for the help with the poetry!! 
> 
> title is from a translation of an ono no komachi poem, which is what ryuzo recites at the end of this piece.

The sun is high in the sky, the birds are singing, the trees are blooming, and Jin Sakai is playing hooky. He knows--he _knows_ \--he should be training, Lord Nagao’s tournament just around the corner, but instead he let his best friend pull him from his unyielding practice. _We are supposed to be achieving balance in all things, right?_ Ryuzo had explained, a turn to his smile. _Shouldn’t that mean between work and rest, too?_ And in this moment, as Jin lays on his back in the grass, the heat of the sun on his face, he can't bring himself to disagree. 

Jin knows--somewhere in the back of his head--that the duty he has to his family should be placed above all else, that it will one day be his responsibility to lead the Sakai clan, to provide for those that now depend on his father for their livelihoods. But there was something in Ryuzo’s eyes when he asked Jin to join him, something desperate that Jin couldn’t turn his back on. An unspoken question, or perhaps an answer to a question that hadn’t been asked yet.

“Ah, you came!” Jin hears Ryuzo shouting and panting, voice drawing nearer. “I wasn’t sure you’d come!” He sounds delighted, and when Jin opens his eyes, Ryuzo’s incandescent smile is the first thing he sees. Holding up his arm to block out the less-brilliant sun, Jin smiles back up at the boy. Ryuzo flops down next to Jin, his arms full of clay jugs. He sets them in a single line between the two of them, his precise eye just as fastidious here as it is in their sword practices.

“I managed to swipe these from the castle,” Ryuzo says, still setting the jars in place. Jin hesitates, for just a moment. It’s not that he hasn’t drunk the sake before--of course he has, the son and heir of a samurai lord--but he’s never really enjoyed it, his focus instead on the other men at the table, trying to follow the subtle negotiations of his father, rather than the taste of the alcohol, the effects it has on his body. 

“Are you sure that-” Jin starts to ask, sitting up, concerned about livelihoods, about the people who worked to make these jars in front of them. 

“It’s fine, Jin,” Ryuzo interrupts, rolling his eyes. “They were set aside for your father, he’s already paid for them.” Ryuzo finishes setting up the jars and looks up, meeting Jin’s eyes. “You’re so predictable sometimes.”

Jin shrugs, the beginnings of a blush rising in his cheeks. A hint of embarrassment that he has no secrets, that at least Ryuzo and probably everyone else knows Jin better than Jin knows himself. Or maybe it’s the heat of the sun, the exhaustion of training day in and day out. Or maybe it’s something else, something in Ryuzo’s eyes, the way he looks at Jin with the same whispered reverence that Jin hears from every prayer of the monks.

Instead of confronting whatever it is, Jin grabs one of the jars of sake and takes a swig. The sake is sharp in his mouth, sweet and aromatic, the taste of a sunrise over Omi Lake. It warms his chest in a way entirely different than the sun, and he coughs a little as he swallows it down. Ryuzo is silent, mouth slightly agape, and Jin raises his eyebrows as if to ask what Ryuzo expected, if not this.

Ryuzo huffs and shakes his head, hand reaching out and flexing for just a moment before grabbing another one of the jars. He takes a long swallow, and Jin absent-mindedly wonders if, when they’re training, sweat drips from Ryuzo’s hair like it does from his own, if the sweat follows the line of neck into his robes, if it itches him the same way that Jin can feel his sweat now, warm from the sun and the sake. 

“Please, Lord Sakai,” Ryuzo says with a wry look, licking his lips. “If you don’t think I can keep up-”

Jin hits out at Ryuzo, at the honorific. Ryuzo begins to laugh, his eyes sparkling at the joke, and Jin Sakai can’t bear it any longer. Careful of the open jars, Jin shoves Ryuzo over. Ryuzo, instead of fighting back, lays where he fell, cackling in laughter. Jin feels his ears redden and takes another drink, craving more of this intolerable warmth in the pit of his stomach. Ryuzo eventually quiets, his chest rising and falling as he tries to catch his breath. 

“Is it really that funny?” Jin asks, half under his breath. “That I would be the lord of the Sakai Clan?”

Ryuzo sits up, his face serious. “No, no, I-” He pauses for a moment, a moment in which the moon rises and falls and trees bloom and wither and spring comes around again, so long does his pause feel to Jin. 

“I think you will make a good lord, Jin Sakai. An honorable one, yes, and an honest one. I would proudly serve you. I _will_ proudly serve you, if I manage to become samurai one day.” Ryuzo meets his eyes, and Jin knows that Ryuzo is telling the truth, that for once he’s speaking earnestly, honestly. Jin’s not sure how he knows this, whether it’s in the slope of Ryuzo’s brow or the timbre of his voice, but he knows. 

Jin nods and hands Ryuzo one of the jars of sake.

“Then, let us walk there together and meet whatever comes between us and this future head on, swords drawn.” Ryuzo takes the jar, and together they drink the jars dry. 

Together, they spend the afternoon drinking and sharing stories, of the people they know, their lives and loves and longings. Ryuzo tries to convince Jin that he once met a fox that led him to treasure, and Jin smiles and nods, uncertain if Ryuzo is trying to trick Jin into believing falsehoods but unwilling to say anything that might steal the smile from Ryuzo’s face. Jin shares how his mother, when he was young, would recite poetry as he fell asleep, the rhythm and the longing of the words a lullaby that could soothe any child’s nightmare. 

Eventually the drink goes to Jin’s head and he finds that he can’t keep his eyes open; he wants to keep listening to Ryuzo’s story about a horse and a snake that somehow involves a crate of plums, but following the thread becomes harder and harder. Ryuzo murmurs something about being tired, and Jin lets himself fall asleep here in the grass, the warmth surrounding him and coming from within him. Ryuzo keeps talking, his voice quieter, the words blurring together in the haze of Jin’s slumber. The cadence is familiar, like a once-forgotten dream; the meaning about thinking of someone, wanting them next to you. A vision made reality.

Jin dreams of a yellow songbird. 

When he awakes, Jin is cold. The sun has gone down, the birds have quieted, and Ryuzo is nowhere to be found.


End file.
